New Year, Baby
by WRTRD
Summary: It's the holidays, and Rick Castle, of all people, is seriously glum. Kate Beckett decides that she wants to cheer him up. Set during S3. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

It's the annual post-Christmas, pre-New Year's Eve homicide slump, and all is quiet in the bullpen. Kate Beckett is catching up on paperwork, wondering if boredom can induce a coma, when an aromatic sixteen-ounce latte lands on her desk. Unless the Coffee Fairy has suddenly decided to fly into the Twelfth Precinct to spread caffeinated joy, there's only one possible source.

She looks up. The benefactor doesn't have wings, though he does have spectacular blue eyes. "Castle? What are you doing here?"

He looks a little put out. "You're welcome."

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she says, picking up the cardboard cup and taking a sip. "Thanks for this, it's exactly what I needed. I'm just surprised to see you since there's no carrion for you to circle. We haven't had a murder all week."

"Yeah, I know." He slumps dejectedly in his chair next to her desk.

"Sorry if that's ruined your holiday spirit."

He looks even more gloomy. "Whatever."

Whatever? He just said _whatever_? There must be something wrong, especially since this is his favorite time of year. "Castle? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. No. I guess."

He's not even making eye contact with her. "I've never seen you so down in the dumps. Hey, how about this? There's nothing going on around here, why don't we get lunch? My treat. You can even have two desserts."

Not a smile. Nothing. Well, a sigh, but not of contentment. This is worrisome.

He looks at his watch. "It's nine fifty-seven, Beckett. Not time for lunch."

She's thinking as fast as she can. Something has gotten to him, and the fact that he has shown up here for no reason seems to indicate that he's hoping that she can help. For once in their relationship (relationship? uh-oh), she's going to have to be the pryer, not the pry-ee. She pushes her chair away from her desk, stands up, rounds the corner to his chair and pulls him to his feet. "Okay, a snack, then. It's always a good time for a snack. You probably have that tattooed on your—uh, arm. Come on. I know just the place."

He hadn't even noticed her tattoo gaffe, which is both a relief and not. "Better not be the vending machine," he says, in a mixture of crankiness and doom. "Only thing left in there is very old Cheez Doodles. Don't think they'd even work as bait in those cockroach races the night shift have."

"Nope, much better, I promise." She turns to Ryan and Espo. "Hey, guys? We're going out for coffee. Be back in thirty."

"Better bring us something, Beckett," Esposito says.

She waves an acknowledgment and nudges Castle in the direction of the elevator. When they get outside, she finds that the weather is as glum as her partner; they immediately turn up their collars against the wind and sleet. "It's only three blocks, Castle, think you can make it?"

"Yeah."

The sidewalks are perilously slippery, so she concentrates on keeping her footing rather than talking until they reach the place she has chosen. "Here we are," she says, turning left to descend a small staircase. She pulls the door open and ushers him into an Italian cafe-bakery with four gleaming espresso and cappuccino makers on the counter and a twenty-foot long, glass-fronted pastry case.

Castle looks around approvingly. "How come I've never seen this place?"

"It's pretty new," she says, taking off her gloves and shoving them into her coat pockets, "and since it's a few steps below street level it's easy to miss. You want to get us a table, or come with me and choose your pastry?"

"Didn't you say I could have two?"

Oh, she thinks. Things are looking up. Two pastries: that's the Castle she knows and lo—. The Castle she knows and likes. Really, really likes. "Yes," she smiles at him, "I did say that you could have two."

She orders two coffees and chooses two small sesame biscotti for herself. He, however, opts for a slice of Italian cheesecake and two chocolate cannoli. "That's three things," she says.

"Not really."

"Not really? Let me check my math here." She points to each sweet in turn. "Yup, three."

"But no one ever orders a cannolo, Beckett. Doesn't even sound right, cannolo. They're a pair, so it counts as one."

"Your point isn't exactly irrefutable, but it's your stomach, so go right ahead." She doesn't add, "And if that's what it takes to make you happy, I'll buy you a dozen more."

"Thanks." He puts their mugs and plates on a tray, and follows her to the very back of the shop. It's an oddly angled corner which accomodates only two chairs and one table, so it's quiet and ideal for the talk she hopes to have, to find out what's bothering him without anyone overhearing.

"So," she begins, once they've shed their coats and settled in. She's nervous, trying to cover her jitters by stirring a coffee that will not benefit from excess stirring. She faces down murderers on a regular basis, so why is she skittish about asking questions of this big softie? She knows why, exactly why, but she's not ready to answer her own question. "So," she repeats, drawing herself up. "You gonna tell me what's making you so blue, Castle?"

"Way to ambush a guy, Beckett," he says, slightly whiny.

"I already asked you in the precinct, and you brushed me off. You can't really be surprised that I'm still trying to find out. You're not the only who's persistent, you know."

"Yeah, I noticed."

She inches her hand across the table top until her fingers are almost, but definitely not, touching his. "I'm worried about you, Castle. You're usually Helium and Sparkle this time of year, floating around, all ebullient."

"They left."

That's all he says, but he looks miserable.

"They left? Who?"

"All of them."

"Have another bite of that cannoli—cannolo—Castle. I still don't understand."

"The loft is empty."

Oh, okay. Martha and Alexis must have gone somewhere? His reaction seems a little extreme. "You mean Alexis? Has she gone on a trip or something?"

"Skiing, with her friends. Last minute opening, and off she schusses. All of a sudden she needs to be away from home. And me."

"She's a teenager, Castle. Stretching her wings."

"Doesn't have to stretch them during the holidays," he mutters. "We always spend all out time together for them."

"What about your mother? Isn't she around? Besides, you're always saying how much you love it when she leaves you in peace for a while."

"Yeah, well, she decided she needed, as she put it, 'the curative powers, the spiritual cleansing, Richard,' of some restored Alpine spa. The owners are apparently in league with Alexis's ski lodge, dangling the last-minute cancellation lure. So all my family plans are gone in a puff of new powder."

"But Gina's still—" Oh. Oh, oh. She sees it the instant she says it, the flicker of pain in his eyes. Or disappointment? That's it, though. That's the last part of the Crushing-Castle's-Holiday-Spirit Trifecta. But surely Gina's not gone, gone. As in for good. Is she? The thought shouldn't make Beckett giddy, but it does, and she tamps down her internal rejoicing. "Castle? Did you…?"

"Did I? No. Did she? Well, yeah. She's gone."

"What happened?"

"Who."

"What?"

"Who happened."

Does he mean Gina dumped him for another man? She can hardly believe it. "You mean, uh."

"Perry Marsden," Castle says, through a bite of cheesecake.

"Perry Mason?"

"No, Marsden, but you're right. It sounds like Perry Mason. Shamelessly obvious. Perry Marsden. It's clearly a bogus name and totally, lamely retro, right? He's a new mystery writer she signed. Did some god-awful book and she gave him a million-dollar advance for it." Castle stops and takes a few swallows of his coffee. "He can't even come up with a decent pseudonym and she's all over him." He puts his cup down and waits a beat. "And I do mean _all_ over him."

She leans forward a little. "I'm really sorry, Castle."

"You know what's weird, Beckett? I should be mad. Pissed off. But I'm not. I'm just, I dunno."

"Sad?"

"Yeah, sad. I hate settling, you know? And I settled for her. It was easy. But then she throws me over for that jerk? it's depressing. And on top of that all of a sudden Alexis is grown up."

"Not quite, Castle," Beckett says with a reassuring smile, while realizing that something suspiciously like hope is beginning to creep up her spine.

"Well, it feels like it. Anyway, she's gone and my mother took off. And then Gina, with that Marsden guy—"

"Took it all off?" Oh, my God, what has she said? She looks at him in horror, wishes that the seeds covering her biscotti were arsenic rather than sesame, and would kill her on the spot. The cafe owner could just put her body in the dumpster out back.

His expression is frozen, as is his fork, halfway to his mouth. The tiny lines at the corners of his eyes change first, deepening. Then the spark comes back into his eyes, and then the laugh. She watches until every part of him is eventually laughing, and she's stunned. When he finally stops he looks at her and says, "Well, she hasn't done that for me in months."

That makes Beckett laugh so uncontrollably that latte comes out of her nose, and for some reason he doesn't tease her about it. Instead, he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket—she had never noticed that he had a handkerchief, for God's sake—and wipes the coffee off her upper lip.

"That felt really good, Beckett," he says, refolding the handkerchief.

She feels her face flush. "What, getting the snotty coffee off me? Sorry, I must have looked disgusting."

"No, telling you about Gina. Getting it off my chest. Thank you." He's quiet for a moment, and then says softly. "And just for the record? I can't imagine any circumstance in which you'd look disgusting."

"Even when I'm all sweaty after working out in the precinct gym?"

"You're kidding, right? Especially then."

Ah, Castle is back. Completely back. But he's different, too. And so is she. They both know it, even if they haven't acknowledged it. She feels as if she should be uncomfortable, but she's not. She clears her throat.

"So, New Year's Eve is right around the corner. What are you going to do?" Oh, shit, did that sound like she was asking him out? "I mean, you must be going to a party. Or, you know, giving one."

"Nah. I think I'll just stay home. Not minding the idea of the empty loft now, thanks to you. What about you?"

"Oh," she says, flicking a sesame seed across her plate. "I have plans."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

"Oh," he says. "Of course. Right."

She knows what he's thinking, that her plan is a four-letter word spelled J-O-S-H. Except that it isn't, not any more. She wants to tell Castle, needs to tell him, but this isn't quite the time, in part because she'd promised the boys that they'd be back in half an hour and they've already been gone almost that long. In larger, part, though? She hasn't put her nervousness completely to rest.

"Plans are kind of vague, still," she says, in a marginally successful attempt to sound casual. "You know, we should get back. Gotta grab something for the guys on the way out. Want to help me pick something?"

"Sure, yeah. Hey, let's get something girly for Ryan, it'll tick off Espo."

Good for you, Castle, she thinks, while tossing him a fake glare. "Girly, Castle? A girly pastry? And what might that be?"

"Anything with pink frosting."

"Really?"

"Believe me. You've never raised a six-year-old girl."

"I _was_ a six-year-old girl, Castle."

"Bet you never liked pink."

"Not true," she challenges him. "I chose a pink cast when I broke my wrist in fourth grade."

They're halfway to the pastry case and he stops in mock astonishment. "A pink cast? You? How did you break your wrist, anyway?"

"Wrestling Tommy Henson." She steals a look at him. Mock astonishment doesn't seem to be mock anymore.

"Wrestling? A boy?"

"Pinned him. Sat on his chest. The humiliating thing was that I broke my wrist after I let him get up and then tripped over a bench."

"You sat on his chest, Beckett?"

"I was nine years old, Castle." She extends her arm and pushes his chin up with her index finger. "Mouth closed, please."

She walks three steps to the case. "Excuse me," she calls to a clerk at the other end. "Do you have anything pink?"

He points to a tray halfway in-between them. "How about ricotta cookies with strawberry icing, that okay?"

"Perfect," she says, craning her neck to see them. They're very pink. "I'll take four."

The clerk puts the confections in a white wax-paper bag and hands them to her, along with her change.

"Thank you," she says, and then reaches over to tug Castle on the sleeve. "Let's go."

"Aren't you getting anything for Espo?"

"I just did. He'll have to share them with Ryan."

Her partner smiles widely. "Good thinking."

She returns the smile. "Good teacher."

When they get back out to the sidewalk, she turns right but he comes to a halt. "Thanks for this, Beckett," he says warmly. "I think I'll go home now. Allergic to paperwork, you know."

"What? And miss your chance to see Javi's reaction to the revoltingly pink cookies?"

"Take a picture of it for me," he says, and touches her elbow lightly. "Call me if there's a body drop."

"Will do. See ya."

"See ya."

Sliding her way to the precinct, she mulls over how to tell Castle that she and Josh are over. As she steps off the elevator she decides that she'll call him later. An end-of-day call. Checking up. Making sure he's all right.

"Where's Castle?" Ryan asks as she puts her purse in the drawer.

"You know him. Chronic Avoidance of Paperwork Syndrome. I told him to take two aspirin and I'll call in the morning if someone gets murdered. Nothing like a corpse to get him out of bed in radiant health."

"More important," Espo says, strutting over with his hand outstretched, "where's whatever it is that you brought us to eat while we covered for you?"

"Covered for me? Please." She jerks her thumb towards Montgomery's office. "The captain isn't even in. And I can tell from here that you and Ryan have been playing some kind of stupid game because there are rubber bands all over the floor by your desks."

"Okay, okay." He has the grace to look the tiniest bit chagrined. "But did you bring us anything? I'm starving."

She retrieves the white bag and holds it out to him as Ryan approaches. "Here you go. Two each for you and your rubber-band opponent there."

Esposito eagerly opens it, looks in and makes a face. "What the hell, Beckett? You brought me some pink thing?"

"Lemme see," Ryan says. "Ooh, thanks, Beckett! Strawberry-frosted cookies. I love these."

"You need to check your testosterone levels, bro," Espo says in disgust, putting the bag in Ryan's hand.

Beckett smiles to herself and wishes, as she has been all week, that Castle were there.

The day crawls by, but quitting time finally arrives. The temperature has dropped, the wind has picked up, and the sleet has turned to snow that's falling horizontally. She makes the wise choice and takes the subway, which leaves her just two blocks from home. It occurs to her that she should probably get something to eat at the grocery store, so she stops and buys a frozen Indian-meal-in-a-bag, figuring that she can manage that with her finely-honed microwave skills.

She succeeds in filling three hours by defrosting the fridge—which admittedly is no real task—organizing some papers for her taxes, and reading sixty pages of a new book. By nine she can't bear to wait any longer, and picks up her phone.

He answers on the first ring. "Beckett? Is someone dead?"

"Hey, Castle. Someone probably is, but not in our bailiwick. Sorry to dash your hopes."

"You can't dash my hopes when you say 'bailiwick.' Or better yet, 'purview'."

"I didn't say 'purview'."

"But you have in the past. It's one of my happiest memories."

"You don't have to ask me twice. Purview."

"Oh, Beckett, you really know how to tease a man."

She gulps, immediately grateful that they're not on FaceTime or he'd see her cheeks burning. "Just checking up on you, Castle. Everything okay? You not rattling around in there in misery?"

"Nope, I'm fine. Just writing, making some notes."

"Good, that's good." Oh, God, she says mentally, pull yourself together. "Um, about Gina."

"What about her? I really am glad that she's gone, if that's your question."

"Good, that's good." Shit, she's already repeating herself. She winces, grateful again for no FaceTime. "I mean, I thought maybe I'd swap my story."

"You have a Gina story?"

"No. No. Swap my story about Josh."

"Yeah?"

She can hear some rustling, thinks he might have slid down on the sofa, maybe put some pillows under his head.

"Where is he these days, anyway? I've lost track of his altruism map."

Oooh, that sounds jealous. He's definitely jealous. It's also funny. "Yeah, about that," she says.

"His altruism map?"

"Yup. I have no idea where it is. Or him. Where he is." She's sure that there's a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the virtual line.

"Oh?"

"Last month, it was my birthday."

"I remember."

"Have I told you how much I liked that gift certificate, by the way?" She knows she's stalling. "Jeet Kune Do rocks. I didn't know how much until I tried it. Thank you."

Oh, the image of her in Bruce Lee mode. He wriggles on the sofa a little, glad they're not on FaceTime. "You're welcome."

"Anyway, my birthday. We made plans ages ago to go to the Hudson Valley for the weekend, had reservations at great old inn, everything. And then two days before he suddenly felt the imperative to go to Cambodia, and he did."

"I'm sorry, Beckett. I didn't know. You should have said something. That must have been a huge letdown."

"I was embarrassed. And hurt. I just wanted to come first for once with him, you know?"

"You should."

"I told him. I said that I would always be second. Always. And I couldn't live with that."

"What did he say?"

"That he'd be happy to be second in my life, instead of third."

"Third? What does he think are first and second?"

"My work and you. Not always in that order." She squeezes her eyes shut. She hadn't meant to tell him that part, not yet.

 **A/N** Thank you for reading this year-end folly, and special thanks for the reviews, follows and favorites.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

In two apartments, a mile apart, there is a shared silence so penetrating and so intense that it could burn through polar ice or a bank vault.

Kate Beckett slowly opens her eyes, stunned to discover that her place is exactly as it was before the phone call and her admission: the furniture hasn't rearranged itself, the art hasn't fallen off the walls, the dishes haven't levitated on the kitchen shelves, the ceiling hasn't caved in. But everything else? Everything that can't be seen? All of that has shifted radically and it simultaneously terrifies and elates her.

"Castle?" she asks hesitantly.

"Beckett?"

"Um." She's willing him to say something. He's the talker, isn't he? He should talk.

" 'Not always in that order' ?"

"Er." Oh, God. She mentally smacks herself for another desperate, monosyllabic response.

"Was it," he coughs. "Was it you who said that? 'Not always in that order?' Or was it Josh?"

"I. Me. I said that. It was me. I." She stops to try to synchronize her mouth and her brain. "I think—I think if he knew that sometimes you come first and my work second? I think he'd have been out the door a lot earlier."

"Out the door to Cambodia?"

"To anywhere. Anywhere I wasn't."

"Or I wasn't."

"Right, or you."

"Maybe especially me."

There's another freighted silence. "Castle?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I know I'm the one who brought up the subject of Josh, but I'd really like not to talk about him any more."

"Me either. You know what I'd like to talk about? I'd like to talk about your coming over. Or me going over there."

"Will you hate me if I say no?"

"Beckett, my heart rate is about 150. I'm not really exaggerating by saying that I'm dying to see you. In the flesh."

"We'll get to the flesh later, I promise. I'm just, I'm kind of overwhelmed by this whole day, evening. By what just happened. I mean it didn't just happen, but it did. I have to let it settle a little bit first. Okay?"

The last thing she expects, if she'd actually had the presence of mind to expect anything, is this: his very gentle "okay," which he delivers with such tenderness that it makes her weep.

She thinks she's crying noiselessly, until he says, even more tenderly, "Kate? Are you crying?"

"Yeah," she chokes out. "But the good kind. I'm glad you're not here. I probably look worse than I did with the coffee coming out of my nose."

Then he laughs, and she laughs, and she says, "Night, Castle."

"Good night, Beckett."

No, _great_ night, she thinks, looking down at her phone as she ends the call. She gets ready for bed and sleeps better than she has in years. So does he.

She sleeps so soundly that the next morning her phone wakes her—not the alarm, which she had forgotten to set, but the ringing. "Beckett," she mumbles.

"Beckett? Espo. Where the hell are you? It's eight o'clock. We got a cold case."

"Huh?"

"Cold case, Beckett, did I just wake up you and the doctor or what? I mean a really cold case. Body's in a freezer. In parts."

"Sorry, Espo, somehow forgot my alarm. And no, you did not wake up the doctor, only me. The doctor's a cold case, permanently. Now shut up and text me the address, please. I'll be out of here in fifteen minutes, tops."

Holy shit, she thinks in the middle of the quickest shower she's ever taken, she just told Espo that she'd broken up with Josh and she doesn't even care. She locks her front door twelve minutes after getting out of bed. From the warmth of her building's small lobby she surveys the weather—still nasty, with light sleet—and is grateful that the crime scene is only five subway stops away. She fishes the phone from her pocket and calls Castle.

"Morning!" he says, sounding so joyful that her hand jumps to her heart.

"Morning, Castle," she says calmly. "You'll be delighted to know that there's a corpse with your name on it."

"Whoa, you mean like the Tisdale case? How awesome is that?"

"No, not like that. I mean you'll like it. The body's in a freezer. There's more, but I don't want to spoil the surprise. I'm heading out, texting you the address."

She knows she should be embarrassed by her behavior, but she's not. She should have respect for the victim. She does, she does. It's just that what she's feeling most right now is high-octane happiness, and it's pushing everything else aside.

Castle arrives at the scene only a few minutes after Beckett does. She can smell mint when he hands her her coffee, so he has brushed his teeth, but she's guessing that's about all he did before leaving home, except for throwing on clothes. His hair is on end. He has a scruffy chin. Imagine what that would feel—. Stop it, she tell herself, and looks as deeply as she can into the sizable paper bag that he brought. She's trying to hide her red cheeks. Maybe she can attribute them to the weather, if anyone notices.

She can't keep her face in there any longer, so she looks up. "Mmm, thanks. Hey, guys, Castle brought doughnuts!" In the few seconds she has before the vultures descend, she whispers, "There's gotta be two dozen in here."

"I know. Kind of lost track when I was ordering. I'm befuddled."

"Unfuddle, here they come."

"Hey, Castle," Ryan says, helping himself to a honey glazed. "Thanks. You're gonna like this one."

"You're the second person to tell me that. But the only thing Beckett would say when she called was that the body's in the freezer."

"Dismembered," Espo adds, taking a cinnamon. "Come take a look."

The scene is a drafty, dingy, all-but-empty warehouse that is unaccountably home to a large chest freezer. The lid is all the way open and Castle peers in. "Ooooh, I see what you mean. Gotta love those two-gallon Ziploc bags, right? Wait a minute, where's the head?"

"Over here," Beckett says, pointing to one of the rear corners. "In that plastic box. And back up a little, please. Don't spill any powdered sugar on the evidence."

He licks his fingers and thumb, taking far longer than necessary and making sure that she sees him do it.

He does little things like that throughout the day, all designed to drive her wild. He's careful, she'll give him that, because they're never alone. While he puts so much effort into getting under her skin, she puts hers into pretending that he's not.

The four of them work nonstop until seven, when they knock off because they're exhausted and making little progress. Three of them head home; the unofficial member of the team has to go to a black-tie publishing dinner. No excuses. No way to get out of it. "At least Gina won't be there," he tells Beckett sotto voce when he's putting on his coat.

Shortly before midnight he texts her, wanting to know if she's still awake.

She calls him. "I'm about to fall asleep, Castle. Want to be in by seven in the morning."

"Can we talk tomorrow? Afterwards. You know."

"I know. Yes, but I have a million things to do to get ready for tomorrow night. "

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"It's New Year's Eve, Castle. I have plans, remember?"

She can feel the air going out of him. "Oh, I. I thought, you know, since."

"I'm not going out with Josh, Castle. But it's something I have to do. Really, really have to do, please trust me. Here's what I promise you. I promise you we'll spend New Year's Day together, okay?"

Now she can feel him trying to sound upbeat. "Sure. Absolutely. Night, Beckett."

"Night, Castle."

She wants to tell him. It's killing her not to tell him, but if she does everything will be ruined. She doesn't sleep very well tonight. Neither does he.

They break the case open in the early afternoon, when they finally locate and reach the victim's sister, whose former husband, Raymond Henderson, is a butcher. She's at Disney World with their children for the holidays, and explains on the phone that her ex had been furious about their trip and claimed that the vic was responsible for turning the kids against him.

Not long after, Beckett and Castle are in interrogation with Henderson, who has signed his confession with no protest.

"Had it coming, the bitch," he says simply, as if that explains everything. "What does she know about kids, anyway? Never had any."

"Well she won't have any now, Mr. Henderson," Beckett says.

"That's my point."

For once, Castle hangs around while Beckett fills in the paperwork. He gets pizzas for the team. Makes her a latte with a paper party hat drawn in the foam. Makes her another latte with a crescent moon and a star drawn in the foam. When she's sure no one can see them, she makes a point of running her fingers across his shoulder, or smiling at him as she looks up from under her lashes.

At five, she stands up from her desk. "Gotta go, guys," she says. "Happy new year, everyone. Have a great weekend."

"Big plans for tonight, Beckett?" Ryan asks.

"Yup."

Esposito shoots her a puzzled look, since he knows Josh is out of the picture. "Hot date?" he asks from his desk.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she says, grabbing her purse.

"Beckett won't tell me what she's doing," Castle says, pasting on a look of fake disappointment which she knows is, in fact, very real.

"Woman of mystery, that's me," she says, and disappears into the elevator.

When she gets home she takes off her boots, puts on some jazz and pours a glass of wine, running over and over and over what has happened between her and Castle in the last two days. She knows that she should eat something, but she has a terrible case of the butterflies. She settles on some cheese and crackers, which is all she can scrounge up, anyway, except for ketchup, mustard and maple syrup, none of which is improving with age. Eventually she runs a bath and stays in as long as she can, topping up the hot water from time to time until she submerges herself, washes her hair and rinses off with the hand-held shower.

She takes a ludicrous amount of time drying and styling her hair. "Why am I even bothering?" she asks her reflection. The make up is another story. That she applies with as much care as she has ever done: she wants sexy and sultry as possible, without crossing the line to slutty. Dressing takes very little time, except for one bit that keeps sliding off her shoulder. At eleven-thirty her phone chirps: the car service is here. She slips into her heels and coat, grabs her evening bag, turns off the lights, and leaves.

Even with the holiday traffic—which isn't too bad, since she's so far south of Times Square—the ride takes less than ten minutes. Once the driver has pulled up to the curb, he opens the door for her and wishes her a good evening. She returns the sentiment and enters the building. She can't remember ever having felt this trepidatious, nor as sure that she's doing the right thing. She rides up in the elevator, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. And now here she is. Here's the door. She takes a few calming breaths and rings the bell. She hears nothing. She waits. Should she ring again? Or knock? What if—

The door opens, revealing Castle in a tee shirt and sweat pants. The only other thing he's wearing is a stupefied expression. "Beckett?"

"Hi, Castle. May I come in?"

 **A/N** Now a four-chapter story. The final chapter will be posted in time for the holiday. Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** The only part of _Castle_ that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

 **A/N** There has been something wrong with the FF site for about 24 hours, and it prevents me from responding to reviews or to PMs. Reviews also do not show up on the site as they should. Once the problem has been resolved, I will answer all. Until then, thank you and happy new year.

He's frozen in place.

"Am I interrupting something?" Beckett asks from the other side of the threshold.

He shakes his head just enough for her to infer that his reply is a no.

"Is there anyone else here?"

He shakes his head again.

"Is it all right if I join you, then?"

He nods and she crosses over into the loft. He's still wordless, so she picks up the slack. "So, what are you up to? Getting ready to watch the fireworks? Must be almost time."

This stirs him to action, or at least to speech. "Uh, no, unless you want to? Do you? We can watch in my office if you like. Big TV, or in here. I have, I could make, get us something to snack on. Oh, and drink. While we watch the fireworks. If that's what you'd like. Because then I'd be happy to watch them." He trails off, still staring at her.

"I was kind of counting on us being the fireworks," Beckett says. She winces at the corniness, but he's forced her into it. Besides, given what she has committed to here, she figures she's entitled. She's never done anything this rash in her life. Though truthfully there's nothing precipitate about it, not after all this time.

He's still staring, but he has managed to relocate his manners. "May I take your coat?"

Oh, finally, thank God. She hopes she won't fall into a faint from nerves, with her coat half on. "Thanks, Castle," she says, as she unties the belt. "I'm glad you keep it warm in here, though," she's undoing the five buttons that saved her from public indecency on the way over. "Since I'm sort of underdressed for winter."

The coat is now suspended from two of her fingers, which she has stretched out towards the gaping Castle. She's standing in her four-inch satin heels, dressed in a white silk thong, shimmery lace-top thigh-high stockings, and nothing else. Nothing else but a pale pink satin ribbon sash, decorated with the number 2011 in silver and gold glitter, that runs across her right shoulder, between her bare breasts, and wraps around her waist.

"I'm Baby New Year," she says, and lets the coat fall to the floor.

She knows that he's capable of speech, since he did offer to take her coat (if not follow through), but he's not saying a thing. He is, however, making sound, a kind of high-pitched variable squeal that's reminiscent of the noise a cat emits if its tail is run over by someone in a rocking chair. Except that Castle doesn't appear to be in pain. She keeps watching him, as the squeal mutates into a heavy inhalation, followed by an equally heavy exhalation that's not unlike a death rattle.

"Jeeeeeeeesus," he says on a column of air.

She transfers most of her weight to her left foot, which pushes her right on its heel and thrusts one hip forward. And then she smiles.

"Holy fuck," he says, running his eyes up and down her for the whateverth time. She's lost track and he's probably lost the ability to count. "Holy fucking fuck."

Her smile widens. "That's a lot of religious talk from someone who's probably not thinking saintly thoughts at the moment, Castle."

"You're, you're—"

"I'm Baby New Year."

"If this is you as a baby I can't imagine what you'll look like all grown-up."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you'll find that I'm already grown-up, Castle."

"You mean, like having grown-up thoughts?"

"Very grown-up thoughts. And if I'm not mistaken," she says, moving her gaze to the front of his sweat pants, "so are you."

He still hasn't touched her, and he's still standing at least two feet away. "How did you get here?" he asks in wonderment.

"I'm dressed like this and all you want to know is how I got here?"

"Oh, Beckett, that's not all I want to know. I just want to make sure no one else saw you like this."

"I took a car service, door to door. Buttoned up from knee to chin."

"Because if anyone else did I would have to find your gun and shoot them. You don't have a gun on you, do you?"

" 'Fraid not."

"But you're definitely packing heat."

"Castle? That's worse than my line about fireworks."

"Don't care."

"Why are we still in your front hall?"

"Because I feel like a teenager and the instant I touch you? Don't think I'll last more than forty seconds."

"Don't care."

"You don't?"

"Nope. Because I'm betting that there's more where that comes from."

If he isn't going to move, she sure as hell is. She's so eager that she wants to launch herself at him, jump his bones, but instead she stalks. When she reaches him, she moves her hands around his neck and draws his face to hers, kissing him with all she's got. It takes very few seconds for him to respond, beginning with him opening his mouth to hers. He pulls her close—and yelps.

"Owwww! What was that?" He looks at the floor where her coat lies in a heap, spies what he just stepped on and picks it up. "Was this in your pocket, Beckett?"

"Yeah," she says and giggles.

"A noisemaker?"

"Well, it is New Year's Eve. And I figured we'd be making lots of noise."

He puts it to his lips and blows, inflating and unfurling the paper tube that reads HAPPY 2011. "You saying this is what we need to make noise?"

"Speak for yourself, Castle. I brought that as a symbolic gesture. I'll be making nosies of other kinds. Assuming you do what I hope you're going to do. To me." And with that she wraps one leg around him, and he reaches around her, grabs her ass and with a small assist has her tight around his waist.

"You're so incredibly soft," he says, pushing her Baby New Year sash aside with his nose to nuzzle the curve of her breast.

She's finding it difficult to concentrate, but moves her hand down to palm him. "And you're so incredibly hard," she murmurs. "How far away is your bed?"

"I've never measured," he answers, gasping as he starts walking them there, "but not close enough."

"I like a guy who's not hung up on measurements, Castle," and she moves her head to kiss him again. By the time they reach his bed they're both breathless.

"You timed this brilliantly, Beckett," he says as he lays her down. "I can see the clock from here. It's eleven fifty-eight."

"You have less than two minutes to get your clothes off. All I have to take off is my sash." She pulls it over her head and drapes it on the corner of the headboard. He leaves his shirt and pants on the carpet and crawls up between her legs.

"Happy New Year, Baby," he says. "I'm starting my celebration with one of these." He takes one of her breasts into his mouth and sucks sensually on her nipple, which is all the impetus she needs to begin making noise. Lots of noise, in a wide range of decibels and colors. Her language is colorful, too, as they begin to explore territory that they'd both dreamed of traveling for a long time.

Later that night, in the early hours of 2011, they're sticky and happy and buzzing with exhaustion. "How do you like the new year so far?" Castle says, kissing her under her left ear.

"Best ever," she says.

"That was a hell of a surprise, Beckett, your coming over."

"Shouldn't have been a surprise, Castle."

He props himself up on one elbow. "Yeah? Why not?"

"Because I promised."

"Promised what?"

"That that we'd get together on New Year's Day. And it's New Year's Day, isn't it? And I'd say we definitely got together, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yeah. Wanna do it again?"

 **A/N** The moral of this story? If someone knocks on your door, be sure to answer: it could be Baby New Year. Thank you all for reading this. Happy 2016, everyone.


End file.
